Paris
I DIDN’T THINK anyone would come.
This was to be my final goodbye to a man I would never understand. In time I was certain the confusion I felt would lessen, as would the sadness I was feeling.
Neither made sense.
I walked into the vestibule of St. John Newman’s Catholic Church and took a deep breath.
The floor was slick beneath my shoes from the rain, and I made sure not to slide as I glanced down. It had been four days since I’d worn high heels and my feet were still a wreck. I’d opted for ballerina flats to accompany my black pants suit. I was fidgeting with the back of one of them when the church door opened.
I looked up to find Tyler Holiday standing there holding the door wide for me to enter.
He caught my gaze and held it. “Hi,” he said.
I took the two short steps toward him with unease. “Hi,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Thought you might need . . . a friend.”
I smiled at him. “Thank you.”
We’d been . . . cordial . . . to each other since the morning I’d poured ice-water over his head. And yes, that was a bit impulsive, even I had to admit. I was just so angry that he couldn’t see the big picture, and I let my emotions get the best of me.
After a complete meltdown on my behalf, I’d called Tabitha, told her I couldn’t follow her plan, and regrouped.
Later that same day at work, I sought out Tyler and told him that I had been mistaken in thinking I could assist with the production side. That I had a lot to learn and although I wanted to learn it, I knew it wasn’t going to happen overnight. And in the middle of a crisis probably wasn’t the right time.
Surprisingly, he agreed, and asked if I would focus on the marketing campaign. While I set forth to plan the launch of the free-run wine that was in process, Tyler took control of the production side of things.
We discussed business. Potential new branding. His wine. My wine. Neither of us liking anything enough for it to stick, but I was still trying. And things went . . . well.
And that was where we were at . . . at well.
His chest went wide when I strode past him, and I could see he was pulling in a sharp breath. He was wearing black slacks, a black tie, and the hand not holding the heavy wooden door was cautiously at his side.
We both stepped inside, careful not to touch.
As soon as I entered the sanctuary, I could feel the vigil of Our Lady and all those Sundays I’d sat in this church with my father come rushing back. A swell of emotion I fought hard to fight.
Benchmarks that my father had been there for—my first communion, confession, confirmation.
I dipped my fingers in the holy water and then pressed them to my forehead, the hollow of my throat, and each shoulder, before folding them together in front of me.
Tyler looked uncertain. “You know I don’t really believe in all this. Is it okay that I’m here?” There was something different about him. More open. I watched him as his gaze roamed and then landed on the open casket at the front of the church and I saw the discomfort in his eyes.
“It’s perfectly fine.” I took in a deep breath and reached for his hand. “Come sit up front with me.”
The sparks that flew between us were like sparklers on the fourth of July, and those silly butterflies felt like they’d been reborn as they flitted against my belly.
Feeling myself letting him inside a little more than I expected, I led him down the aisle toward the first pew. Once there, I let go of his hand and knelt before I slid down it. Tyler hesitated behind me, mimicking my movement, and I felt a little proud of him for doing something so out of his comfort zone—for me.
Once we were seated though, dread filled my belly. I found myself staring at the casket.
At Malcolm Fairchild.
My father.
I swallowed, and if sensing my unease, Tyler placed his hand on my knee and squeezed it. “You’re going to be fine, Paris.”
Father Dolan entered just then from behind the altar and at the very same time, the church doors opened again. I swung my gaze over my shoulder and saw Tabitha, Grayson, Darcy, Julian, Christian, and even Lane walking in.
I smiled at them as they filed into the pews behind me.
The mass began and Father Dolan opened with a prayer. I recited the words I knew by heart. I watched as Tyler reached for a prayer book and began to murmur the words along with me.
My eyes followed Father Dolan as he paced around the altar as he spoke. Telling us about life and the ever after.
The door opened again and when I turned around, I didn’t recognize the older man who walked in, but Tabitha did because she waved at him. That’s when I also spotted Wilhelmina, Buck, and a few employees from Highway 128, as well.
Tears burned my eyelids and I battled fiercely to keep them from falling. These people had come—for my father. To say their final farewells. And for me. To comfort me in what should have been my time of need. With each second that passed, it seemed harder and harder to keep my tears at bay.
The rite of commendation had me breathing deep. Then my father’s body was sprinkled with holy water and absolution was granted when Father Dolan waved the incense burner over him. Bars of colored light shone in the church through the stained-glass windows all around me, and I didn’t realize I was crying until Tyler handed me a hankie.
A hankie.
Where on earth?
I saw the monogram TRH and knew it must have belonged to his grandfather.
Such a thoughtful gesture.
Father Dolan spoke some more about life and death and the ever after. About the time we spend on this earth and about our souls when they leave our bodies, and then he moved into the final prayer.
Due to the rain, I opted not to have a graveside service. This would be it for me. Father Dolan would accompany the casket, offer a quick prayer at the grave site, and then my father would be lowered in the ground beside his wife and first born.
Me being there felt like a bit of an intrusion, to be honest. I would visit, though. I knew I would.
I listened intently to his final words and when he said, “May this soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace,” those sparse tears I had been shedding came in a rush.
Tyler grabbed my hand then and it wasn’t meant to be romantic in any way, just comforting, and it was.
I was glad he was there.
When the service finished, I was the first to walk down the aisle, and all of my friends formed a line. Like the good little Catholic girl, I stopped at the door to greet each and every one of them. Tyler stood beside me and I found him to be a rock that I desperately needed. Kisses and hugs and sympathies were extended, and I accepted each with gratitude.
I couldn’t help but stand there astonished that these people I hardly knew had taken time out of their Saturday afternoon to come here—for me.
Tyler leaned to my side. “Tabitha would like everyone to go to her house afterward for an early dinner. Are you okay with that?”
Not expecting anyone to attend the funeral, I hadn’t arranged a gathering to follow. I stared at the people who were here and said, “Yes. I would really like that.”
“Hello, young lady,” the older man who’d come in late said as he took my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
I accepted his greeting. “Thank you, and I’m sorry, have we met?”
He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, but I’m Baldwin Perkins and I knew your father a very long time ago.”
Tyler offered a hand. “Sir, it’s nice to see you.”
“And you are?” the older man asked.
“Grandpa,” Tabitha said, having just come out of the bathroom with Emerson on her hip. “That’s Tyler, Grayson’s friend. You met him at our wedding.”
The nearly ninety or so year-old man gave Tyler the once over. “Yes, of course, now I remember.”
Tabitha handed Emerson to Grayson and marched over to hug the old man. “If I had known you were coming, Grayson and I could have picked you up.”
His grin was wide enough to show his teeth. “Took one of those fancy Ubers,” he said. “Your sister arranged it for me.”
She laughed. “That’s Stacy for you. Always communicating. Well, I see you’ve met my friend, Paris.”
“What’s that?”
She repeated herself.
He nodded. “Oh yes, I have, and I was just telling her I knew her father a very long time ago.”
“You did?” she asked. “I didn’t know that.”
He put a hand to his ear. “Speak louder. I can’t hear you.”
Again, she repeated herself.
“Yes,” he said. “I sold him and that Holiday boy the largest piece of land I ever owned, and for what I considered a steal, too. They were green but eager to start making wine and I just couldn’t take that away from them.
“Grandpa,” she said louder. “This is Tyler Holiday. That Holiday boy’s grandson. I already told you, you’ve met him before.”
“I have?”
“Yes, sir,” Tyler responded.
The old man looked him up and down one more time. “You look just like your grandfather.”
Tabitha shook her head. “Do you want to come to my house for lunch?”
“You have a hunch?” he asked. “About what?”
She laughed. “Oh, Grandpa, never mind. Just come with me.”
The rain was letting up and a bit of sunshine was shining through the clouds by the time we stepped outside.
I sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. It was over. My father would be laid to rest and my life would change forever.
As I was staring out over the peaks and ridges of the valley, Tyler walked up and stood beside me. “Are you okay?”
Feeling better than I had in a long time, I turned to him. “I think I am.”
Sunshine streaked his face, and in the light I could see all the golden flecks in his brown hair. “Do you want to ride with me to Tabitha’s?” he asked.
“Oh,” Tabitha said, running up to us. “I’ll ride with Paris, and Grayson can take my grandpa and Emerson, that way she won’t have to come back later to get her car.”
My eyes went to Tyler. He said nothing to contradict her, so I responded by saying, “Okay.”
Tyler nodded his head and then said to Tabitha, “You don’t think your grandfather would know anything about the survey lines being changed on Vince Gable’s property, do you?”
She twisted her lip. “It’s worth asking, but the battery in his hearing aid must have died, so it’s a crap shoot if you’re getting the right answer.”
Tyler looked at me. “What do you say we give it a try?”
I smiled at him then. “I say yes.”
I didn’t mean our relationship . . . but I felt like I did.